


037 - Stupid, Wonderful, Beautiful Boy

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Reader-Insert, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 05:28:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17461487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompt “can you do a story with angry makeup sex? like you just had a fight with van ahah thank u!! Xx”





	037 - Stupid, Wonderful, Beautiful Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Verbal abuse from boyfriend (not Van) to reader character. A bit of violence in general, really.

Fury had always been the manifestation of your hurt. When you were four years old your babysitter said no to a second cookie, and you threw her phone across the room. You got sent to the principal when you were eleven for pushing over a chair in a fit of rage when someone called your best friend stupid. In tenth grade gym class a girl purposefully tripped you in a game of soccer, and you spat the word 'cunt' for the first time. At nineteen you broke the screen door on your parent's house when they said you were too young to move in with some boy that had a name that rhymed with 'dick'. You almost broke the same boy's nose on the night he called you a slut. You didn't take a swing, but you thought about it, and instead tipped an entire jug of cheap beer on his head and stormed out of the bar, colliding with another person in the doorway.

When you collided with Van, and he caught you in his arms, you didn't feel trapped. Rick was following you, calling after you in a string of insults. Before Van heard him, he said "What's the matter, honey?" and you realised you'd never known safety before this. You'd never known love. Van's blue eyes watched you in concern, then he noticed Rick. Van put himself between him and you, and when a punch was thrown and missed, Van retaliated. You didn't want to like watching him beat the shit out of Rick, but you did.

Van never did anything that annoyed you. He never saw your wrath. It wasn't like you were purposefully holding anything back, it was just that Van was so super chilled that he hardly did anything that could be considered offensive. He was raised well enough to clean up after himself. He was kind, and sweet. But… you were still a ticking time bomb and Van couldn't stay perfect forever.

It was a Sunday night and he dragged you to a bar to hang out with the guys. You were happy to go, but negotiated to come home early. You had an early start at work on Monday. It was eleven pm and you could feel the crawling darkness of sleepiness behind your eyes. You pulled Van aside and asked to go home.

"Babe, just a little longer, yeah?"

"You promised,"

"How 'bout you head home and I'll come a little later?"

"Are you fucking serious?!" You took a step back in disbelief. He could see it on your face that he'd fucked up. "Alright. So, to be clear: you made a promise and you are choosing to break it-"

"Babe," he interrupted and you continued.

"No. That's what you are doing. For the fucking record. And now I am going to go home by myself, I guess in a taxi or uber or something, because you want to stay out with people that you have just spent literally months with. That is what is happening." The venom in your voice cut through Van, even though he knew you were right.

"I don't know what you're so upset about. You love them just as much as I do and it's just a couple of drinks,"

"You don't know what I'm so fucking upset about? Van. You promised. It doesn't matter that I love them or that it's just a couple of fucking drinks. You promised."

You knew you were about to explode, but you loved him too much to do it there. Before he could say anything else you held your hands up in front of you in a clear signal for him to not speak, and you walked out the bar and straight into a taxi. The whole ride you bounced in your seat, the rage bubbling. When you unlocked the door and stepped inside you immediately threw your keys across the room. They landed with a clank and skited across the floor. You ripped open the fridge door and pulled out the jug of water with cucumber slices in it. Van made sure it was always topped up and fresh, even though he never drank from it. Being reminded of the little kindness made you more angry, and you smashed your glass into the sink, sated when the shards settled.

The sound of the door opening and closing at 2am didn't wake you. It was Van's confused voice asking "What the fuck?" He was in the kitchen. You pretended to still be sleeping when his presence in the doorway cast a shadow across the room. "You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?" he asked. He knew you were awake. It was a risky move, provoking you out of bed. He could have pretended too, and let you take the whole night to calm down. He didn't sound drunk, though.

"Fuck off," you said.

"Right. Do you want to talk, or do you want me to sleep on the couch?"

"It's two am, Van. I wanted to go to bed early with you and sleep and get up happy. But instead I was out late and here by myself and now you're fucking waking me up at two fucking am for what?" you sat up and said in a voice that was not a yell, but it was by no means calm.

"I just wanna know you're okay,"

"Did you even listen to anything I just said?" Now you were yelling.

"Yes. I meant… the glass…" he started but stopped. You looked at him. He turned the light on, then leant casually on the doorframe. He crossed his arms across his chest and looked at you. "If you want to fight, Y/N, we can fight. Come on,"

"I don't want to fight! I-"

"Yes, you fucking do, so we might as well get it over and done with!"

You got out of bed and went to leave the room. He put his arm across the door frame to stop you.

"Get out my way," you growled through clenched teeth.

"No. Look at me, Y/N," he demanded, pushing you up against the wall in the bedroom. He put his arms either side of your shoulders, locking you in place.

"Let me go, Van," you said, your voice deep and low and threatening.

"No. You're angry. I'm letting you be angry. Tell me how pissed you are, come on," he said, and he lightly tapped your shoulder with his fingers in an antagonistic act.

"Why are you doing this?" The patience you were practicing was wearing thin and you were going to lose it, but Van wasn't cruel, so there had to be a reason.

"I don't want you to think I don't know you. 'Cause I do. When you're hurt, you get angry. So, feel it. Don't go to bed all pissy and not talk to me for days. Just… do this and be okay again."

He was putting himself on the line for you. He knew he'd hurt you, and he knew what that emotion would translate as, and he knew you had to act on it. He was setting the parameters for that action, and he was going to stay with you through it. Stupid, wonderful, beautiful boy. You pushed off from the wall and fell into him, he caught you confused and you kissed him hard.

He crashed backwards onto the bed and you crawled on top of him. You didn't want to stop kissing, but you could feel his confusion. As soon as your lips stopped touching his, he spoke.

"What? You're meant… Fuck. Whatever. Come here." He pulled you back into the kiss and his hands were all over you. He flipped you over so you were on your back, and he lifted your tshirt off, leaving you in underwear only. He started to unbuckle his belt and unzip his jeans while you unbuttoned his shirt. It took a minute, but he was stripped to underwear too.

You kissed until your jaw ached and your tongue was tired. Van kissed hard from your neck down past your heart, down, down, past your stomach, down. He licked at your hip bones, and your thighs. You pushed into his mouth and you could feel his smile on your skin. He used fingers to make room for his tongue. As he sucked your clit you could feel the tension in your muscles drain away. Your body could feel anger, or it could feel pleasure, it didn't know how to reconcile both. Van's hands and mouth would win out every time.

You were close to orgasm, but you wanted it to be with Van. You grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled up back up. He hissed in pain, but was grinning in satisfaction. You pushed him onto the mattress and he held your hips as you climbed on top of him. He folded his legs up so you could lean back onto them. So much practice and you didn't need hands to help guide him into you. Your bodies knew each other. Van took both your hands and threaded his fingers with yours. It took a few months of sex to figure out that Van liked to hold hands as much as possible. You loved it about him. You began to gently bounce, picking up pace when his eyes closed and yours rolled back.

You both needed release, so the sex was short lived but intense. It existed in place of a conversation in which Van said sorry and you felt acknowledged. Just as you came in sync, you leaned forward and pressed your head to his. He said, "I fucking love you Y/N," on the last breath of his orgasm, and you smiled stupidly into his mouth.

Fury had always been the manifestation of your hurt, but Van was showing you how to be more relaxed. He helped you articulate feelings, and not break things. And if something did shatter in the wake of hurt, he'd always be there to help you put it all back together again.


End file.
